


Apocatastasis

by FireEye



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Deathfic, F/M, Gen, trope bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3072194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/pseuds/FireEye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SR2.  Everything's different when the blood's on your hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apocatastasis

“Mrrrm?”

There was no answer. Pushing up on his elbows, he swung his legs out over the edge of the bed to sit up and scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

“Hello?”

There was _someone_ on the other end. Someone holding their breath, followed by the slightest hitch – an almost imperceptible whimper.

“‘Stas?”

The line went dead.

Behind him, the bed shifted, blankets tangling and pulling at him. Aisha’s soft arms slid around his chest, skin cool against his. Her chin settled on the crest of his shoulder.

“She okay?”

Staring at the phone in his hand, Johnny hesitated to answer.

“She probably forgot which end of the gun the bullets go in.”

“Give her a little credit – she might’ve gotten lost.”

“Or she’s drunk off her ass and needs a ride.”

“Or... she found her way back up to the top of the refinery and can’t get back down?”

“Which doesn’t preclude her being drunk off her ass.” Johnny’s mouth twisted in a show of teeth, and he twisted to catch a glimpse of Aisha’s shadow from the corner of his eye. “You know, I still don’t have a clue _how_ she got all the way up there where she was.”

But he squinted at the phone a moment longer, taut uneasiness creeping along his nerves. Shaking his head to clear the fog, he rolled his shoulders in a shrug, that expanded into a full stretch as Aisha slipped away. Reaching for his glasses on the nightstand, Johnny hit the call key. When Faith didn’t answer her phone, that settled it, and he blindly felt about on the floor for his pants.

 

It took less than five minutes to get dressed, two to be properly armed. He paused to turn back at the middle landing of the stairs, and his breath caught in his throat, his mouth curving in a generous, genuine smile. At the top of the stairs, Aisha stood illuminated by the hallway light. It cast a halo of her hair, still disheveled from bed, and of her translucent indigo nightgown.

“Need anything while I’m out?”

“Just be careful.”

“Who you think you’re talking to?”

Aisha scoffed, padding down the stairs on bare feet. “I _know_ who I’m talking to.”

Pausing on the stair above the middle landing, she held out her hand, and he crushed her fingers in his, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, then her cheek, then her mouth. Drawing her into his arms, he paid closer attention to the hem of her nightgown, and was rewarded with a soft giggle.

“Go on, go find her.”

 

On his way through the living room, he slowed, blinking at the nondescript, beat-up beige backpack leaning against the sofa. And picked it up on his way past, without a second thought. Aisha trailed a distance behind, following him to the door, but not into the rain.

~*~

The sunrise was bright and bold over the lake, and reflected blindingly across the ultramodern glass and steel of the Row. The sterile beacon of Humanity’s Future left an acrid taste in his mouth, and Johnny wanted little more than to punt the sun and its obnoxious radiance into the nearest black hole.

Digging a fingernail into the peeling vinyl of the dashboard, he considered his options. Faith hadn’t hit up any of her bolt holes between the house and her mainstay niche in the wall down on Prawn Court. It had taken him an hour to get in contact with Shaundi, who _helpfully_ couldn’t remember having seen her since the afternoon before. Pierce, the afternoon before that. Carlos wasn’t answering his phone, at all – an act of defiance for which Johnny grudgingly couldn’t blame him.

_ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE_

The text was more frustration than anything else, but three minutes later he gave it once last try...

...and, dropping his foot off the dashboard, sat up straight when the call went through.

This time, he didn’t say a word. The silence dragged on, until he could hear the blood rushing through his ears, and, on the other end of the line, short, soft breath that might’ve been mere imagination.

_“I fucked up.”_

“Are you alone right now?”

“... _yeah_.”

A measure of built-up tension eased from his shoulders; scratching at the itch, Johnny leaned back in the driver’s seat. One leg still twitched restlessly of its own volition.

“Alright, where are you?”

_“You’re gonna kill me.”_

“Nah, I don’t know anything about that, but if you keep giving me the fucking run around, I will kick your ass.”

The line went dead.

It took every ounce of self-control not to whip the phone across the cabin. Instead, he dropped it on the passenger’s seat and scowled at the surrounding buildings. Scratching the back of his neck, he wracked his brain.

If she weren’t in danger – immediate, perceptible danger – that took some of the pressure off. And if she were upset, there were places she would go, by force of habit if nothing else. Not all of them were easy to get to.

Swiftly running down the list that he knew about, he narrowed it down to two.

And flipped a coin.

It came up heads.

He opted for tails.

~*~

The rainstorm had left shallow puddles across the concrete, which he sidestepped on his way across the parking lot. Faith huddled in the gap in the wall, with her back to the to the water processing plant. Her hair had sopped down, plastered flat against her neck, her clothes were damp, and she straight up jumped when he touched her shoulder, turning to flatten into the broken concrete.

“C’mon,” Johnny flicked his fingers in emphasis, “let’s go.”

The first scuffing steps of his shoes echoed alone, and when he swung back, her gaze had drifted back out over the river, and she didn’t answer. Breathing an even sigh, Johnny made a conscious effort to squash any sympathy the pathetic spectacle might’ve engendered.

“Alright, let me make this simple.”

Catching his fingers under the collar of her leather vest, he pitched his arm out, throwing her off balance and at a dangerous angle. Mere balance and his grip kept her from falling over the edge.

“Either you get in the car,” he said, leaning her further over the water, “or you go for a swim, and I go back to bed.”

Faith clawed at his arm, fingernails digging into his skin as she held on for dear life. But something more than mere survival instinct had seeped through the cracks of her stupor; for the moment, he was willing to take that small trace of fury for a minor victory. Even so, it faded as he pulled her back to safety, and she still held on to him.

“See, that’s what I thought.”

Walking backward beside her, Johnny appraised her as she stumbled after him, eyes downcast. There were dark circles under her swollen eyes; along with new scrapes and bruises, most visible along her bare arms, and blood and dirt was ground into her clothes. Her movements were sluggish, stiff and uncoordinated, and it was hard to assess the damage at a mere glance.

 

At the car, he paused, leaning back beside the passenger side door as he held it ajar.

“So, you gonna let me in on what happened or what?”

The exhausted, lost stare he received in reply assured him she wasn’t. Not yet. _Not anywhere close_.

“Whatever, get in the car.”

~*~

The afternoon was progressing otherwise uneventfully, when the early edition sitting in its newspaper rack caught his eye. Cocking his head, Johnny mulled over the headline, and the muscles of his jaw tightened, and his eyebrows knit together.

Three precise kicks later, and the newspaper was free. He brushed the glass off its pages, scanning the article

Change in hand, a sharply-dressed businessman stood staring at him, eyes wide. Johnny gestured, smiling pleasantly and inviting the stranger to partake of his handiwork, before hurrying on his way.

~*~

The car door slammed, startling Faith awake from a deadened sleep. She rubbed her face, blinking at her surroundings, and at him. The disorientation lasted until he tossed the newspaper across her lap, headlines up.

“That what got you all out of sorts?”

For a moment, she squirmed and twisted in the passenger’s seat, pushing the paper away. A silent, shuddering sob wracked her frame; her face contorted in anguish, and fresh tears mixed with the grime on her cheeks.

Johnny sighed deeply, scrubbing his eyes under the frames of his glasses.

“Carlos was a good kid.” Reaching across the cabin, he rubbed a meaningless pattern into the back of Faith’s neck. “Look, we’ll get the bastard who did this and we’ll make him hurt. I promise you that.”

Contrary to the intended effect, her muscles tensed and knotted under his fingertips.

“Were you there?” Her answer was a hesitant nod. “You seen the guy?” She offered a second, barely perceptible nod. Johnny’s eyes narrowed as he studied her reaction. “What, he hurt you, too?”

This time, she scrubbed the tears away.

Anger and pain, and no further answers forthcoming.

He’d lost her again.

“Whatever. Here.” Faith glanced down sharply as he shoved the box of donuts at her, onto her lap. “Eat something; it’ll make you feel better.”

Kicking his foot up on the dashboard, Johnny pulled the plastic cover off his own cup of coffee. He caught her expression sidelong from the corner of his eye.

“Don’t look at me like that, just eat the damn food.”

~*~

“Hey, enlighten me: What is it with the women in my life not answering the Goddamned phone?”

Not that he expected one, Faith didn’t even bother to answer the question.

“Never mind. Here,” he tossed the overnight bag she’d left at the house across the hotel bed, “Give me what you’re wearing, I’ll take it down to get laundered.”

Once she’d stripped down, he collected the clothes she left behind and let her alone to shower.

He made quick work of her pockets, stuffing their vast and varied contents away for safekeeping. Except, he paused – drawing a familiar, blood-spattered Saint’s Medallion from her inner vest pocket, he curled his fist around it.

~*~

The high-rise hotel offered a calm, quiet view of the city. The late night skyline glittered through the impressive window, feeling for all the world like a different plane of existence.

The moment the line connected, Johnny’s eyes snapped open.

_“Hello?”_

“You okay?”

_“Why wouldn’t I be?”_

“I dunno, you sound a little terse.”

_“I’m sorry, it’s not really... it’s nothing.”_

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

_“Did you find Stasia?”_

“Yeah.”

_“Is she alright?”_

“I... yeah, she’s right here.” He glanced across the bed, to where Faith was barely visible, curled under the blankets, exhausted and asleep. “She’s... uh... We lost someone last night, she’s taking it hard – the silent treatment, whole nine yards.”

_“Be gentle.”_

On impulse, Johnny reached out, blindly tangling his fingers in Faith’s hair. “The fuck do you mean by that?”

_“We can’t all be as strong as you.”_

“Oh, come on – you even know how strong you are?”

_“All I’m saying is, be gentle. Don’t push her.”_

Glancing down, he flexed his fingers free of the loose strands and combed the mess straight, chewing on Aisha’s words.

“Love you,” was all he said.

_“Love you, too.”_

Johnny grinned, his full attention rebounding to the call at hand.

“Hey, try not to sound like you’re grinding your teeth together when you say it, it ruins the effect.”

 _“I love you,”_ Aisha assured him, almost a whisper, _“more than anything.”_

“Yeah, whatever, see you when I get home.”

_“Take all the time you need.”_

“Yep, later.”

Johnny’s fingers tightened in Faith’s hair.

“The fuck are you smirking at?”

One eye cracked open, Faith regarded him candidly. “You are such a fucking hypocrite.”

“How you figure?”

“ _So totally not worth it_.”

“Well you have to grow up a bit to appreciate it.” Johnny’s grin faded; his hand fell away as Faith pushed herself up, rolling over to sit up. “How you feeling?”

He held out the Saint’s Medallion toward her, scrubbed clean. She reached for it, only to hesitate and withdraw her hand. A kaleidoscope of emotion tumbled across her face – grief, guilt, sorrow. Regret, as her gaze fell to her hands. Tangling the chain in his fingers, Johnny ignored the thing completely.

“Look,” he said. “How about you come around the house for a couple weeks. Relax a bit, settle your nerves. We can figure out where we go from there.”

“Are you sure that would be a good idea?” Faith drew her legs up towards her chest and curled her arms around her knees. “I mean, won’t Aisha mind?”

“Why would she?” Johnny shrugged. “Besides, there’s some other shit I’ve been wanting to talk to you about anyway.”

His fingers brushed the back of her shoulder, and she fell into him. Johnny didn't smile, because there wasn't much to smile about - but he let her lean on him for as long as she needed.

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been rolling around in my head since I played SR2. [For the record, I played Red Asphalt and Bleeding Out back to back. Without knowing what was coming. Go me!]
> 
> I apologize if it's a little rough around the edges. Because it was rushed (Trope Bingo Deadline really hit me hard this round) I might still tinker with it, but there it is. [The Title isn't particularly fitting? But again, Deadline.]


End file.
